Love Your Life(31)

He’s in dollhouses? I didn’t see that coming either.

“Right,” I say, trying to think of something to say about dollhouses. “Well…that’s super-cool! I’ll see you soon.”

“Can’t wait. It’s been amazing.” He meets my eyes again. “Truly.”

“I’ll miss you!” I say impulsively.

“Me too.” He nods, then turns away. “OK, Geoff.”

Geoff closes the door and gets into the driver’s seat. The engine fires up and the car is moving away when I realize the most dreadful, horrendous thing. I pelt after the car, Harold barking madly, and bang on the glass till the car comes to a halt and the window winds down again.

“You haven’t got my number!” I blurt out.

“Shit.”

“I know!” We stare at each other, both wide-eyed at the enormity of what nearly just happened—then I whip my phone out. “Type it in here,” I say breathlessly. “Oh, and one last thing. What’s your name? I’m Ava. Who are you?”

“Oh, right.” Light dawns on his face. “I never told you.” He finishes typing in his number, then looks up. “I’m Matt. Short for Matthias.”

“Matt!” I smile, because Matt is a good name, even if it isn’t Jean-Luc. I save his contact under Dutch/Matt, ping him a text, and breath out in relief. “Hi, Matt. Nice to meet you.”

    “Hi, Ava.” His eyes crinkle. “Nice to meet you. Good save.”

He closes the window again and I watch the car move off, my mind turning over this new information. Matt. Matthias. Dollhouses. (Dollhouses?) Matt Warwick. Matt. Meet my boyfriend, Matt. Hi, this is Matt. Have you met Matt?

It feels right. It feels familiar. I think I knew he was called Matt all along.





Eight




By the time I’m standing on a street corner the next afternoon, I feel almost limp with the exertion of waiting to see Matt again. My head has ached. I’ve paced around. I’ve checked my phone every five seconds for a text from him. It’s only been twenty-four hours, but I’ve barely survived.

My body has actually been pining for him. I don’t want to sound overdramatic, but he’s crystal meth. In a good way. My physiology has changed. I can never not be with him again.

As I see him emerging from the tube station, I feel such relief and exhilaration I could almost burst into tears…mixed up with a sudden shyness. Because here’s the weird thing: This guy in his black jeans and gray T-shirt isn’t Dutch. He’s Matt. Matt with his driver and his job and his life. And I don’t really know Matt, not yet.

He looks a little trepidatious, too, and we both laugh awkwardly as he nears me.

    “Hi! You made it.”

“Good to see you.”

He wraps his arms round me, and as we kiss I close my eyes, remembering the taste and feel of Dutch. For a moment I’m back in Italy, back in the glorious bubble…but as we draw apart, my eyes open and we’re in London again, and I don’t even know if he has a middle name.

“So! Come and meet my…my life, I guess!” I say, trying to sound relaxed as I lead him along the street. “I’m not too far from the tube.”

As I say the words, I have a sudden mad flashback to Sarika’s deal-breaker and imagine Matt replying severely, “Well, as long as it’s not more than ten minutes.”

The very thought makes me want to laugh. It just shows how messed up modern love has become! Deal-breakers are wrong. Deal-breakers are anti-love. If you ask me, deal-breakers are the work of the devil.

Matt has taken my hand and we’re walking in step together, and right now I can only pity all those tragic people who place such weight on artificial factors that have nothing to do with genuine love. I mean, I love Sarika to bits, but no dancers? What kind of rule is that? What if, like, the main guy at the Royal Ballet asked her out? What then?

“Do you believe in deal-breakers?” I can’t help saying aloud as we walk along. “I mean, do you have any?”

“Deal-breakers?” Matt looks startled. “What, you mean—”

“Do I need to worry?” I clarify teasingly. “You know, like, some guys won’t date a girl who’s a smoker, or…” I think a moment. “Drinks instant coffee.”

This is a real one. A few months ago Sarika saw an article saying 53 percent of people would never drink instant coffee or date anyone who did. Whereupon she sent round a WhatsApp to the squad: Urgent!!! Throw out your instant coffee!!! I didn’t have any, but I had some instant carob substitute drink, which I moved to the back of my cupboard, just in case.

    But Matt seems perplexed by the idea.

“Jeez,” he says after a moment. “No. That’s not how I think. You can’t define…I’m not wild about smoking, but…You know.” He shrugs. “Everything depends.”

“That’s how I think too,” I say eagerly. “It’s not about deal-breakers. I don’t have any either. I can’t even imagine having any.” We walk on for a few minutes, then I add, “I read up about your family company. It sounds amazing!”

It didn’t take much sleuthing. Googling Matt Warwick brought him up straightaway. Chief operating officer, Warwick Toys Inc. Brands: Harriet’s House, Harriet’s World, Harriet’s Friends.